Dying Always Makes A Story Nice
by Queen Bookworm the First
Summary: A parody of Sleeping Beauty: Harry Potter version. Be warned, you might gag at what's in here...


Challenge Your Versatility: Evil!Dumbledore fic

Quidditch Pitch: Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson (pairing)

Quidditch Pitch in HP's World: Humor, Drama, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley

Drabble Club: desk (item)

Greek Mythology Category Competition: The Moirai: Write a fic chronicling the life and death of a character

* * *

Once upon a time, there lived a happy king and queen. The queen had finally given birth to a child, a precious daughter. The whole kingdom rejoiced.

The girl was to have a naming ceremony. Everyone was invited, except for one, evil witch by the name of Albina Dumbledore.

"What shall her name be?" the king asked his wife—he was a doting husband and would do anything to make his queen happy.

"Oh, Vladimir, you know how much I adore pansies. Our daughter shall be named Pansy," the queen declared.

King Vladimir smiled. "A fitting name, my dear Ophelia. Pansy Parkinson."

The crowd roared its agreement. Queen Ophelia set the christened baby in her crib.

"Make way for the almighty witch, the Dark Lady!" Trumpets sounded.

* * *

"What is this?! The Dark Lord is _not_ a woman!" said King Vladimir to the narrator. He stormed up to her desk, his dark eyes furious.

The narrator stuck her tongue out at him. "Yeah? Well, you're going to have to deal with it. Now get back on the set!"

King Vladimir opened his mouth to retort, but he was quickly silenced by a glare from the narrator.

"On the set. _Now._ "

The king sighed. "Fine. But I shall warn you; the Dark Lord will not tolerate such disrespect."

The narrator rolled her eyes. "Your Dark Lord will have to. Now, kindly shut up and continue."

King Vladimir huffed and turned back to his wife. They both donned forced smiles.

"Okay, let's repeat that small snippet," the narrator said without looking up.

* * *

"Make way for the almighty witch, the Dark Lady!" the courtiers yelled. Trumpets sounded.

Everyone's eyes turned to the entrance expectantly. A tall, thin woman dressed in frilly pink robes walked—rather, floated—in. Chocolate brown hair fell in waves to the end of her ears, framing a gaunt, noseless face. Red eyes stared out at them, glimmering with excitement.

King Vladimir's eyes bugged out at the sight. He held back a splutter as the Dark Lady sauntered to Pansy's crib. The king sank into a low bow and the queen offered him a curtsy.

"Ah, what a pleasure it is to be here!"

The courtier held back a laugh at the Dark Lady's shrill voice. King Vladimir sent him a glare.

"Do bless our child, my lady," said Queen Ophelia.

"Oh, yes! I simply love blessing children!" the Dark Lady said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

* * *

"Excuse me, but have you read the script properly?" the narrator asked, narrowing her eyes at the Dark Lady.

"First, I would like some answers as to why I am a woman. And why, in the name of magic, am I wearing these atrocious robes?!"

"I see nothing wrong with those robes."

The Dark Lady sputtered. "Nothing wrong?! They're pink! And frilly! And _pink_!" With each word, her voice rose higher.

"Whatever," said the narrator, rolling her eyes. "Now, have you read the script?"

"Yes, I have. But you still haven't told me why—" The Dark Lady was cut off.

"Can you not see that you are supposed to squeal, not just say that line?" the narrator said, getting up. She held the script up close to the Dark Lady's face and pointed to the line. "Look here! It says 'squealed' not 'said'.

"The Dark Lord does _not_ squeal!"

"I told you he wouldn't tolerate this," said King Vladimir from his throne. He got a glare in return.

The narrator turned back to the Dark Lady. "I want you to get out there and squeal! You got that?"

"Bu—"

"No buts!"

The Dark Lady grumbled but returned to her spot, sneering at the pink robes. "How dare she show such insolence?" she muttered.

"Stop talking to yourself!" the narrator hollered from her desk.

* * *

"Oh, yes! I simply love blessing children!" came the forced squeal of the Dark Lady. She bent over the crib. "Dear Pansy, I shall bless you with beauty, grace, and—"

Suddenly, the many candles flickered and went out, and the only light was a dim one that came from the windows. The satin curtains danced in a mighty gust of wind. A lone figure enveloped in a blinding white light strode forward. The light dimmed to reveal the evil witch, Albina Dumbledore.

"Why, hello, everyone," Albina said, her blue eyes twinkling.

"What are you doing here?" King Vladimir spat, all pretense of politeness gone.

"My, my. It's not nice to act like towards a guest."

"You're not a guest! You just want to do something evil!"

"You know what they say about assuming, don't you, Vladimir?" Albina smirked. "I, too, want to bestow a gift upon the darling princess."

"No!" the king and queen cried out. But it was too late. The Dark Lady stood, frozen, in her place, watching as Albina strode towards Pansy.

Albina bent over Pansy's crib, wearing an expression of mock thoughtfulness. After a moment, she pulled out her wand. "I have the perfect gift!"

The king and queen exchanged fearful glances. What was she going to do to their precious child?

"Before the sun sets on her sixteenth birthday, she will prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and fall into a sleep like death—a sleep from which she will never awaken!" A brilliant ball of light floated out of Albina's wand, landing with a pop on Pansy's chest.

"What have you done?!" King Vladimir cried. He stumbled forward, followed by Queen Ophelia.

* * *

"Kings do not act in such a weak manner!" King Vladimir said, his voice a loud echo in the throne room.

"Not again…" the narrator moaned, letting her head fall into her hands. "How many times are you lot going to argue?"

"But you're humiliating us!"

"Get back on the set now before I kill you off or something."

King Vladimir shuddered and kept silent. He returned to his position.

* * *

"Guards! Get her!" Queen Ophelia cried out, proving to be more sensible than her husband. The guards rushed towards Albina, only a moment too late.

Albina's white robes whirled around as she disappeared in a flash of light. "You'll never get me," she said right as she left, her face contorted into an ugly sneer.

"What shall we do?" The king spoke the question that everyone was afraid to ask—the answer would probably be nothing.

"I have not bestowed my last gift upon the princess," the Dark Lady said.

"Oh, please, save my daughter!" Queen Ophelia begged.

The Dark Lady waved a dismissive hand. These mortals put too much faith in magic—but, she did like the feeling of power it gave here. "I'll do what I can."

She walked to Pansy's crib, reaching out with a single finger to touch the baby's forehead. "You shall go into a deep sleep, but you shall awaken at the death of your true love."

"The death of her true love? But that's not fair!" King Vladimir said, his face red.

The Dark Lady shrugged. "Life's not fair, Vladimir. Take what you can." With that, she disappeared in a flurry of pink.

Queen Ophelia picked up Pansy, cradling her close to her chest. "Oh, Pansy, what shall we do with you?"

* * *

Pansy was raised a lonesome girl in a forest by three of the Dark Lady's minions. Needless to say, the Death Eaters chosen—Avery, Yaxley, and Rookwood—were not apt in the art of raising a child. They had no idea of what to do with Pansy.

Pansy was unaware of her royal heritage and her curse. She believed that her oh so wonderful uncles had found her, an orphaned baby.

Pansy grew up to be very beautiful and graceful; her steps very light and dainty, and her beauty enchanted anyone who saw her. Her only friends were the creatures of the forest. She was a very kind, but sarcastic, girl, her tongue just as sharp as her mind.

Soon enough, Pansy was going to turn sixteen. That day, she was wandering around in the forest.

* * *

"Pureblood princesses do not wander in forests," Pansy snapped, glaring at the narrator. She crossed her arms over her chest, huffing.

"Well, in this story, they do."

"Father was right! You're ruining my reputation!" cried Pansy.

"As if you had one in the first place," the narrator said, snorting. "Get back on the set."

"You know, I would quit right now if Draco wasn't in this!"

"Whatever." The narrator held back a laugh. Pansy was such a lovesick puppy when it came to Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Suddenly, she heard a distressed whinny behind the trees. Pansy pushed the leaves away from her face as she strode to the noise.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice wavering.

"Who is it?" asked a masculine voice.

"Who are you?" Pansy retorted. She finally caught sight of a horse. It was a magnificent stallion, its gray coat gleaming as spots of sunlight danced on it. Standing beside it was a man who took her breath away.

The man was extremely handsome. His white-blond hair shone in the light, framing an aristocratic face. High cheekbones under entrancing, molten silver eyes. He was wearing the garb of a prince. "Prince Draco," the man said, a small smile creeping onto his face.

* * *

"You know, you're actually pretty nice," Draco said to the narrator.

"I try."

"I mean, you made me like this male model!"

"Alright, I get it: you like being handsome. Now please continue with the script. I'm seriously running out of time here," the narrator said, glancing at a clock.

* * *

"Pansy," she stuttered in response, blushing. The prince's gaze stayed fixed on Pansy, seeming just as entranced by her as she was by him.

"Beautiful name. Just as beautiful as the lady herself."

"Thank you."

Draco bent down to free his horse from the trap that had ensnared it. The horse whinnied in relief, prancing around.

"Will I see you again?" he asked suddenly, looking back up at her intently.

"Maybe," she said, offering him a coy smile. "Goodbye." She nodded her head at him and leaves him.

 _She hoped she would see him soon._

* * *

In one hour, one talk, Pansy's life had been ruined. Shattered into shards she could never put back together.

She was a princess. The daughter of King Vladimir and Queen Ophelia. And cursed.

" _No,_ " was all Pansy had managed to say before she had run out of the cottage. The Death Eaters had found her crying, leaning against a tree, holding her knees to her chest, whispering, "No. No. No."

She was to return to the castle. Be married to some prince she didn't even know.

* * *

"What?! I don't want to be married to some prince! Although, now that I think of it, all that money and fame…" Pansy said.

The narrator rolled her eyes for the millionth time. "Have you never read Sleeping Beauty?"

"Never heard of it," the whole cast chorused.

The narrator sighed. These people were so ignorant. "Well, now you're finding out. Now, please continue," she said through gritted teeth. All this writing was really tiring her.

* * *

The Death Eaters forced Pansy into a carriage, and they were off to the castle.

Draco's horse skidded to a halt just in front of Pansy's cottage. Draco jumped off and walked to the door, knocking it softly.

"Come in," came the sweet voice of Pansy. Draco opened the door and stepped in. He was almost immediately bombarded by a mix of unicorn-men and enormous butterflies. He yelled and screamed, but nothing could stop them. Soon enough, Draco was bound up and tied to a chair.

"The butterflies! They're so… ugh," Draco moaned.

Albina frowned, her eyes disapproving. "There's nothing wrong with them."

"But, they're just so… girly!"

"Oh, shut up," Albina said, waving her wand. Draco was quickly gagged.

Albina waved her wand again, saying, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Draco was lifted up into the air—the narrator must add that it was quite hilarious to see him scream. Albina waved her wand again, and Draco's eyes fluttered closed.

Well, there goes our hero.

* * *

Meanwhile, Pansy had been escorted to the palace and had a not so joyous meeting with her parents; the narrator will translate that statement to this: she absolutely _hated_ them. She was locked up in her chambers, and of course, since we are following the story of Sleeping Beauty—have we strayed away from the fairy tale a bit?—she heard a mesmerizing voice. The voice lulled her into a hypnotized state.

Pansy walked down the stairs that had mysteriously appeared, catching sight of a spinning wheel. The tip of the spindle twinkled in the dim light, and Pansy took a deep breath. She stepped forward and—

* * *

"Can we just cut to the point already?" an irate Ronald Weasley said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm already gagging at the thought of kissing Pansy the pug."

"Hey!" Pansy huffed, throwing him a glare. She turned back to the narrator. "Wasn't Drakie supposed to be my hero?"

The narrator waved her hand. "Change of plans. I felt like this was getting a bit boring. I love making the good people fall for the dark."

"I hate when she changes her plans," Pansy muttered before returning back to her hypnotized state.

* * *

Pansy's eyes fixed on the spindle, her fingers drawn to it. Ever so slowly, she pressed her finger against the spindle, wincing as a bead of blood stained her pale skin. With a soft sigh, she fell to the ground—gracefully, of course, because princesses are supposed to be graceful, especially pureblood princesses.

The Dark Lady appeared in a burst of pink sparkles. She glanced down at Pansy's limp figure and waved her wand with a bored sigh. She levitated the sleeping girl into her chamber and set her down on the bed.

"Now we just have to wait for her true love to die…"

* * *

Draco had been thrown into a cave—the narrator will have you know that it was a very dark, very dank cave. Oh, how could we forget about the ogres? Well, we all can guess what happened to poor Draco.

Another hero came to light: Ronald Weasley. He had met Pansy when they were children, and the two had become reluctant friends. A few years later, it had grown into more. Ron had to leave as his duties as the king of the Lumos's most trusted knight had called.

(It was only because the narrator wanted them to.)

Ron had heard of Pansy's plight and traveled to the castle, using his sword to chop away the vines and thorns surrounding the castle. There, he met the dreaded Albina.

"Not so fast, my boy," Albina said, her voice like honey. She smirked.

"I will reach my love, no matter the cost!" Ron yelled—there was a hint of a gag in his voice—before brandishing his sword. The duel lasted for a great time, leaving Ron weary and covered in cuts and bruises. He finally defeated Albina after throwing his sword at Albina's chest while she was fumbling for her wand.

The Dark Lady appeared, her frilly pink robes frillier than ever—it seemed like she'd been adding more frills while waiting for the battle to finish. "Ronald Weasley!" she roared, fluffing her nonexistent hair. "You must die for your love to to awaken!"

"Anything for Pansy," Ron said, sighing.

* * *

"I am _not_ dying for that pug-faced idiot!" Ron shouted, stomping over to the narrator's desk. He threw down his script with a huff, cheeks red.

"That's what you agreed to." The narrator took a deep breath. "Can't any of you people read the script before joining?"

"Bloody script," Ron muttered. He swore furiously under his breath.

"Shut up, will you, Ronald?" the narrator snapped, clenching her fists.

* * *

Ron reached Pansy's chamber, heart throbbing with an urge to take her into his arms.

* * *

"My heart is _not_ throbbing with an urge to take her into my arms!" Ron cried.

The narrator offered him a mere smirk in response.

* * *

He bent over her bed, staring at her glowing, ethereal face with loving eyes, drawing a gag from the Dark Lady, who happened to be standing beside him. With a sigh, Ron pressed his lips against hers. He managed to pull himself away after a few moments.

"I shall always love you, Pansy!" he cried before plunging his sword into his chest. The blood splattered all over him and the Dark Lady, who sniffed.

"I suppose blood looks… okay on my robes," she said.

Pansy woke up with a start, her eyes wide when she caught sight of Ron's limp figure. A strangled sob escaped her lips before she screamed, throwing herself at Ron. She pulled the sword from Ron's chest, taking a deep breath. She held the sword above her chest and stabbed herself, falling beside Ron.

Thus, Sleeping Beauty—who really looked more like a pug—awoke and died.

Thus ends the tragic story of Pansy and her dearest love.

"I must admit, dying always makes a story nice," the Dark Lady said, examining her bloodstained fingernails idly.


End file.
